Rock Bottom Lullaby
by fadedmystery
Summary: She may be the one in the coffin, but she still feels as alive as ever and no one has a clue that it’s really him who’s slowly dying on the inside.


**A.N: **I'm dedicating this story to the wonderful** D R O W N–I N–S E Q U I N S**, whose _'__**Broken Sunsets'**_ (an amazing fic which still makes me cry every single time I read it), inspired and influenced me to try my hand at the whole how-Derek-copes-with-Casey's death plot. I'm not entirely sure, though, how it went from what I had originally planned to…_this_. Any constructive criticism is welcome (as always.) Read, review, and enjoy…

**Rock-Bottom Lullaby**

He's starting to feel like himself again. (Almost.)

The music's loud, and the lights are bright. People are talking and drinking and dancing and he's one of them, grinding against this pretty blonde whose name he doesn't even remember. She's tanned, gorgeous, and doesn't even seem that upset when he tries to guess her name. Eventually, he decides she isn't worth it (a girl whose name he can't be bothered to remember never is), and he goes to get a drink.

He works the room with a drink (another one) in his hand, occasionally dancing with some girl that catches his eye. He manages to sneak in a make-out session (or two) in between, makes jokes and laughs and everyone seems glad to have him back. Everyone seems to be happy to have Derek Venturi back on the scene, back on track, and he's determined to stay that way. Determined to feel good, to feel alive.

(Because she isn't there to ruin his fun anymore.)

He comes home around midnight, which is pretty early for him, but he's had a little too much to drink and Sam and Ralph had taken him home. He stumbles toward his computer chair and just sits there, letting the alcohol in his blood continue to numb him, to make that good feeling last. (It's the only thing he feels these days that doesn't hurt.)

And then he hears the sound of the shower running from the vent (who the hell takes showers at midnight, anyway?). Hears someone taking a very late shower while humming and damn it, It's. Not. Her.

(He's not quite sure anymore if that breaking and crashing sound is that glass on his table or his heart. Must be the glass, after all, he didn't have a heart, right? And if he did, it's not like it was still working anyway.)

Almost instantly, his brain forces him to remember. Remember that moment when he first heard her sing in the shower through the vent. When he first realized that she was perfect (and not just for D-Rock, either.) Remember---and all of a sudden, it comes rushing back, like a tidal wave that overpowers the alcohol and the numbness, and just like that, he's _not_ okay and it hurts to breathe and be alive again.

Why can't he forget her, damn it? Why won't she let him?

He knows he's completely screwed when he slowly starts to sing Polly Wolly Doodle.

* * *

Her eyes are just like Casey's.

They've named her Sophia. Sophia Cassandra, her second name after the big sister she's never going to meet. For the first time in months, Nora and his dad are actually smiling real smiles, and the younger sibs look like they finally have something to be excited about now. For the first time, everything around him seems …normal.

(He hates it. He hates them for acting like this. Because can't they see that it won't ever be normal again unless she's here?)

The weekend he returns from Queens (Yes, he went back to university. Because his parents insisted he get on with his life, even if there was really nothing to live for now) is the first time he sees her. He takes one good look at the kid and just…_freezes_. It comes back, the pain (not that it ever really left), and wham-bam, she's killing him all over again. Because his baby sister (_their_ baby sister) is beautiful and has the same blue eyes as Casey –the same blue that he hatesloves and wants to forget but can't--and it's so goddamn _painful_ to look at her.

His dad asks him if there's anything wrong, but he gives a reply that doesn't really answer his question and heads upstairs to his room. He's probably left them confused, but it's okay, because that way, they won't know. They _can't_ know. Can't know that when he looks at Sophia, all he sees is _her_. Can't know that even if she's his sister, he doesn't quite know how he feels about her (Then again, he hasn't really been feeling much these days, so he thinks it's understandable.)

Because she's blessedcursed with those eyes, in some fucked-up way, she'll always be a reminder of what he lost. And while the thought makes him sick to his stomach, he knows that Sophia will still have him wrapped around her little finger anyway, because let's face it:

_He's always been helpless against those eyes._

* * *

Once or twice (or many times, he can't remember, and anyway, he's never been that great at Math), he manages to drink her away from his mind.

It's a good feeling, forgetting. The liquid burns his throat, but it's almost pleasant, and he embraces it. The alcohol takes him to another place, where he feels a little like the guy he was before, a place where shattered glass and something burning aren't the only things he can see when he closes his eyes. And he starts to feel a little less broken.

But when morning comes, he's always left with a hangover and her, firmly back in his thoughts. He chases her away with another drink, but she always comes back after awhile (Why can't you stay away, damn you?)

He ignores the worry in his family's eyes whenever he's back home and they can smell the alcohol on his breath. He pretends he didn't hear Marti crying to Nora one night because she's wondering what's wrong with her Smerek. He denies that everything's gone completely out of his control. Ignoring, pretending, denying—something's telling him how wrong this all is, but he can't stop because it's just so much easier this way.

Sometimes, she's still there, even after a few bottles. She looks at him with a disapproving frown, hands folded and glaring at him.

"You can't keep doing this, you know," she tells him. "Do you have any idea how damaging this amount of alcohol is to your system? The damage to your liver alone—I don't even want to think about it." She gives a delicate little shudder, and he rolls his eyes.

"Casey, I know that keeners like you get joy out of lecturing people—which, by the way, is pretty lame—but can we please skip the Health lecture today?"

"I wouldn't need to lecture if you actually paid attention in class once in awhile," she snaps as she begins clearing away the bottles that are on the floor, wrinkling her nose, and he fights the urge to smile—she always has to have everything neat and tidy. Always.

"And speaking of irresponsible behavior," she continues. "Those girls of yours—it's disgusting, really. You should date someone because of her personality, not because she has a big chest and is willing to do it with you at a moment's notice."

He can't help it—he laughs. "Do it? God, Case, what are you, ten? It's called sex, Casey. Sex. You should try it sometime; it might actually make you human."

"_De-rek_!" she's saying, and god, it feels good to hear his name like that again. Soon, they're arguing like always and despite the insults and jabs, he starts to feel better, because this is what it's supposed to be. This is the way things _should_ be.

He reaches out a hand to grab her arm. His fingers grasp thin air, and just like that, she's gone, and again, he's left with the emptiness, the silence. He hates it.

It doesn't take long before another bottle's on his lips again.

* * *

Ironically enough, university soon becomes his escape.

He still plays hockey (and really, it's nice to know that he's still got that, even if he's lost everything else). He even attends his classes (she would've been proud). He goes to parties and drinks and hooks up (he can just imagine that scandalized look on her face.)

He's living the life everyone thought he would. But no one sees the cans and bottles he hides in his dorm room (See? Even he can be clever and sneaky sometimes.) No one, not even his roommate, knows that he can still see her sometimes.

No one knows that he wants to forget her, but at the same time, holds on to her memory, because, really, it's the only thing of her that he's got.

And here's the beauty of it all: Bit by bit, he's unraveling. Slowly coming undone. But this time, he's far away—from his family, from his friends, from anyone who actually cares (Well, there is one other person. But she's probably too busy organizing the angels to notice, so she doesn't count.) So he's free to break, to snap, and there isn't anyone who can stop him.

He barely bats an eyelash when he's suspended from school for hiding alcohol and starting a fist-fight during a party, his hockey scholarship more or less in the mud. He barely hears his dad telling him how lucky he is that he got off so lightly, that he wasn't expelled. He barely feels him shake his shoulders as he says, "She's gone, Derek. But she wouldn't want you to live like this." Because he just doesn't _care_ anymore. Doesn't care about anything, anyone.

He just wants her (and isn't he always supposed to get what he wants? Why should this time be any different?)

On the car ride home, she's beside him, and her expression is full of sadness and disappointment as she demands, "What are you doing to yourself, Derek?"

He hates himself for being the cause of her pain, but he can't look away from her (he's afraid that she'll be gone if he does), and replies anyway: _I don't know._

Because really, he doesn't. And it hurts, but she's here and she's real, so he feels a little bit better, because having her beside him is the only thing he ever wanted anyway.

(He knows that in the end, though, she'll have to go, so in the meantime, he'll take whatever scrap of her he can get. But he's not quite sure how he'll deal when she leaves him again.)

She may be the one in the coffin, but she still feels as alive as ever and no one has a fucking clue that it's really him who's slowly dying on the inside.

* * *

Sometimes, when he can't sleep, he hears her voice through the thin walls.

She's talking and laughing, and it sounds like she's on the phone. She seems happy, and he can't help but smile (and it's funny, really, because he's almost sure he's forgotten how to) And then, all of a sudden, she's singing a song from some musical, and he's half-tempted to yell, "Shut up!" even though he secretly likes to hear her.

Then, the song changes and her voice becomes softer, but he can still hear her. She's singing this song he can't recognize, but knows that it's a lullaby; he heard her sing it to Marti once. And it's beautiful, really.

Suddenly, she's in his room, and god, she's as beautiful as ever. He's overwhelmed by the urge to just take her, mark her as his own (and it's just so fucking cruel that he can lose so much control and forget but still remember that he can't touch her) She's smiling, but it soon fades, and he gets out of bed. She isn't singing the lullaby anymore, but she's still humming it.

She looks at him then, and there's so much sadness and pity in her eyes that he can't bring himself to look at them. "I thought you loved me," she finally says, and her tone is accusation and desperation and anger and he's pretty sure angels aren't supposed to get angry.

He's confused. "I do, but---"

"Then why won't you stop?" she's yelling at him now, tears rolling down her cheeks, and he doesn't even have to ask what she's talking about.

"I—I can't," and his voice is broken, because he's making her cry but he just can't stop. _Won't_. He does love her (and isn't it just so wonderful that the moment he stopped fearing love was the moment it was taken away from him?) and that's exactly why he's doing this. Can't she see it? Can't she see that staying like this is the only way he can still have her?

"It's not your fault." Her voice is softer now. "It never was."

Except that it is. He told her that he was too busy to go with her that day. He wouldn't go with her, so she got into the car alone. He didn't go with her, so he couldn't protect her when a drunk driver hit the car. It _is_ his fault, so why can't she just blame him? Why can't she just be angry at him? Why won't she allow him to hate himself, damn it?

"I never even got to say good-bye." And out of everything, he hates himself the most for that. Hates himself for just letting her slip through his fingers, much like he's done with the rest of his life. Hates himself for not being there. Losing her is his fault, and he'll have to carry that piece of hell with him for the rest of his life.

"Stop it, please," she's whispering again and he's never been able to resist her when she sounds like this, so sad, so broken. He finally turns to her and reaches out. His fingertips are brushing so very lightly on her skin, and he's _so close_ to feeling it, feeling the warmth….

All of a sudden, the feeling's gone, but she's still there, watching him (and why can't he ever touch her, damn it?) She's humming the lullaby again and her face is so _close_ to his, but he can't feel her and it hurts so much, he's suffocating. She's there, but at the same time…she isn't.

_'So close, yet so far'_ will probably always be the slogan of their fucked-up relationship.

He's gasping for breath, and soon, it becomes too much (it's a miracle he's managed to last this long), and then he's screaming, screaming so loud that his throat is sore. Screaming until the sound matches the pain and until the lights turn on and Nora and his dad are rushing inside, his siblings in the doorway. His step-mother's hugging him and all he wants to do is push her away, because oh, god, all he wants is _Casey_, and he couldn't have her then, and he'll never have her now and the pain—it's killing.

The only sound he hears before his eyes close is her voice still humming the lullaby.

* * *

He finally finds the strength to visit her.

The leaves are falling, and it's becoming colder and colder every day. There's actually somewhere he's supposed to be (like that shrink his parents are making him see every week) but he has to do this now.

The words written on her stone are simple, and he realizes that this is the first time he's come to see her since the funeral. He's the only one here and it'll probably rain soon but he doesn't care. He just stares at the stone, reading the _'Beloved daughter and friend'_ line and knowing that she was and still is so much more than that.

He's not quite sure how it happens, but suddenly he's dropped to his knees and he's (finally) letting the tears come out. It's slow at first but grows rapidly until his tears consume his whole being, and while it tightens his chest and makes it difficult to breathe, for the first time, he feels something completely foreign: A strange sense of lightness, and it's only now that he realizes he never really let himself cry for her.

(Derek Venturi doesn't cry. But he's already at rock-bottom and drained and tired of pretending all the time, so he figures he'll try something new.)

Through his tears, he's repeating "I'm sorry," over and over again, and before he knows it, it's starting to rain, and she's there. She's crying too but the smallest of smiles is on her face, she doesn't say anything and for once, she's the one who's reaching out. And as she wraps her arms around him while humming that lullaby again, he swears he can almost feel it. _Almost_, and while it's not enough (God knows he'd hold her and feel her entirely if he could), it's the most he's really, truly felt in months.

He lets her hold him while he's crying and apologizing and letting it all out, and he finds that the lightness, the feeling that feels suspiciously like freedom isn't going away, unlike that good but temporary feeling the alcohol used to produce. He's not sure how long they stay like that, but soon, she's fading, fading away, and to his surprise, he finds that it hurts a little less than it used to.

She was his death. But now, maybe she could be his salvation.


End file.
